Ain't it just like the night to play tricksWhen you're tryin' to be so quiet?We sit here strandedThough we're all doin' our best to deny itAnd Louise holds a handful of rainTempting you to defy itLights flicker from the opposite loftIn this room the heat pipes just coughThe country music station plays softBut there's nothing, really nothing to turn offJust Louise and her loverSo entwinedAnd these visions of JohannaThat conquer my mindIn the empty lot where the ladies playBlindman's bluff with the keychainAnd the all night girls they whisper ofEscapades out on the "D" trainWe can hear the night watchmanClick his flashlightAsk himself if it's him or themIt's insaneLouise, she's all right, she's just nearShe's delicate and seems like the mirrorBut she just makes it all too concise and too clearThat Johanna's not hereThe ghost of electricityHowls in the bones of her faceWhere these visions of JohannaHave now taken my placeNow, little boy lostHe takes himself so seriouslyHe brags of his miseryHe likes to live dangerouslyAnd when bringing her name upHe speaks of a farewell kiss to meHe's sure got a lotta gallTo be so useless and allMuttering small talk at the wallWhile I'm in the hallOh, how can I explain?It's so hard to get onAnd these visions of JohannaThey kept me up past the dawnInside the museumsInfinity goes up on trialVoices echo, 'This is whatSalvation must be like after a while'But Mona Lisa musta had the highway bluesYou can tell by the way she smilesSee the primitive wallflower freezeWhen the jelly faced women all sneezeHear the one with the mustache say"Jeeze, I can't find my knees"Oh, jewels and binocularsHang from the head of the muleBut these visions of JohannaThey make it all seem so cruelThe peddler now speaks to the countessWho's pretending to care for himSayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasiteAnd I'll go out and say a prayer for him"But like Louise always says"You can't look at much, can you man?"As she, herself, prepares for himAnd Madonna, she still has not showedWe see this empty cage now corrodeWhere her cape of the stage once had flowedThe fiddler, he now steps to the roadHe writes every thing's been returned which was owedOn the back of the fish truck that loadsWhile my conscience explodesThe harmonicas playThe skeleton keys and the rainAnd these visions of JohannaAre now all that remain